


like real people do

by naimeria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I'll fight anyone that argues with me, M/M, Steve is totally Grace's other dad, Wherein there are copious feels, and no one can handle them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:22:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naimeria/pseuds/naimeria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the electric sound of life around them, from the chirping of distant birds and near constant drone of bug chatter, even to the crackling fire, Danny wonders when he’d had the shade pulled so successfully over his eyes.</p><p>Or, Steve takes Danny and Grace camping. Things go dangerously awry. Their hero is someone unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like real people do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theLiterator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/gifts).



> Prompt given by the lovely lady above. I won't post the prompt because _spoilers_.

At the electric sound of life around them, from the chirping of distant birds and near constant drone of bug chatter, even to the crackling fire, Danny wonders when he’d had the shade pulled so successfully over his eyes.

The last time they’d shared one of Oahu’s forests, he’d taken a bullet and a near heart attack for his trouble. Things are a bit different now, though, and if Grace can ignore the fact that the last time she was taking survival lessons from Uncle Steve one of her friends had been kidnapped at gunpoint, then so can Danny. (It helped that she’d barely blinked when her counselor had taken the bullet out of his bicep, and later told him that if he ever got shot again he didn’t even have to go to the hospital, that her and Steve could patch him up was, well.)

The two are chattering away, Steve waving his hand-sharpened stick around with ferocity, wide-eyed and loud-mouthed for emphasis. Grace isn’t much better, a piece of hair stuck to her marshmallow, bouncing up and down on her knees whenever the story gets terribly exciting. Danny had stopped listening halfway through, settling in to watch and letting the warm pit in his stomach happily mellow him out. He feels relaxed in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time, tipsy off of Grace’s boundless joy, Steve’s easy exuberance.

“Danno, you’re doing it again,” Grace says, the shift from male intonation to female making his brain switch before she can completely surprise him. He smiles at her and plucks the hair away from the marshmallow, and it hangs next to her face, still lined with a thin layer of goo. He purses his lips and she giggles at him.

“And what, may I ask, am I being accused of doing?”

“The thing, where you’re supposed to add to the story but you just sit and listen instead.”

“Hey, there is nothing wrong with lounging and listening to a good story.”

“With you there is,” Steve says, eyes wrinkling at the corners as he grins at him, and Danny can barely handle how much love he feels for them both, has to swallow through it and breathe through his nose because his throat is doing something stupid.

“Oh, so I can’t just sit back and listen? The last time I interrupted one of your amended SEAL stories I got a face for my trouble.”

“Yeah, but you’re you, so,” Steve says, as if that explains so much, and Danny can’t help but raise his brows, mouth falling open slightly, and great, Grace is giggling again.

“Careful, Danno, you’ll catch flies like that,” Steve adds.

“What does amended mean, daddy?”

“It means Steve’s making sure his story is rated PG and can’t get him thrown in the brig,” Danny says. “And  _you,_ you don’t get to-”

But Steve suddenly isn’t looking at him anymore, gaze pinned somewhere over Danny’s shoulder, and Danny tenses, instantly watching Steve’s face for cues. Steve glances to Grace quickly before looking back into the darkness, and Danny gets the message.

Grace is pressed close to him now, picking up on the change in mood instantly, but he holds a finger up to his own mouth just in case. She nods, his perfect girl, long ponytail flopping on her shoulder, eyes scared but fierce. Pointing to a large berry bush, Danny whispers, “Just in case, okay Gracie?” She looks uncertain, but does as she’s bid, glancing to Steve, who’s still laser fixed onto the dark trees ahead.

“Gun’s in my bag. What’s up?” He whispers into Steve’s ear, noting the shiver before Steve replies.

“Dunno yet. Could be an animal. Heard movement in the underbrush.” He’s reaching to his ankle, because of  _course_  he has his knife holstered there, and nods when Danny reaches for his own pack. He can almost hear his own heartbeat, nerves revolving entirely around Grace currently being stuffed in a bush behind him. If Steve is being overly paranoid, Danny resolves to hit him at least once. (Only not really, because he knows the only reason he’s on high alert is because of Grace being here at all, so.)

Now Danny’s heard it, a faint rustle in the distance, and both of them are poised, Danny’s hand finding the gun while keeping his eyes trained toward the sound.

There’s a sharp sound of a shaking tree to his right, and everything devolves from there.

Steve rises to his feet quick as anything, Danny rising along with him, but something lands on his back – not too firm, but hard, so forearm, then – and Danny buckles a hair but slides to the side, grabbing the arm and using the man’s momentum against him. They tussle, Danny getting in a punch before a knee to the stomach has him lurching back, and he figures out what’s happening right as he loses balance.

He rolls with the fall, remembering what’s there, but his arm grazes a burning log anyway, ash kicking up and landing on his skin. He hisses and shifts as quick as he can, then brings the gun up to take a shot, done with this game. There’s a gun in his face for his trouble, and Steve shouts at the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Danny’s gaze unwillingly flies to his partner. It’s only a glance, but his opponent takes advantage of his mistake, smacking his gun to the ground.

Out of options, Danny reaches to his side and grabs a log, slamming it into the man’s hand and then head. He goes down yelling, ash and burning mulch coating his face, and Danny throws the log to the pit in a hurry, hand already blistering and angry. He goes to grab the gun, but there are hands on the back of his shirt, and Steve yelling his name before his face is shoved into the dirt, dangerously close to the fire.

Choking on ash, Danny raises his hands in surrender. Eyes find Steve, who hasn’t fared much better – he’s bleeding from a cut to the side of his face, but there are two guys at his feet, a third not too far away (Danny’s downed attacker), and two holding him, one with a gun to his head and the other a knife pointed at his gut. They’re all Japanese, Danny realizes, and it clicks into place.

“We’re yours, now get the damn weapons off him,” Danny says. “And if you could move me a bit to the right, that’d be swell, I’m getting a little overdone.”

The butt of a gun slams into the back of his head, and things are black for a moment, the only thing sucked into his lungs is dirt and ash. When he can see again, he notices it worked; the two men are tying Steve’s arms behind his back, their weapons holstered. Steve’s eyes are locked onto his own, and Danny gives a small nod, a reassurance that he’s okay, though the ground is turning uncomfortably beneath his chest.

Pulled to his feet by rough hands, he doesn’t dare glance to the bush he hopes his daughter is still hiding in. If he felt vaguely nauseous before, now he wants to puke all over this asshole’s shoes, knowing his daughter is this close to danger. It’s a blinding and searing thing, and he stumbles with it, yanked by his shirt collar a moment later. Before he knows it his hands are being tied, (but unlike Steve, they tie Danny's in front of him, which is a lucky mistake), and they’re being herded away from their warm clearing, from their supplies, from  _Grace._ He bites down on all the noises that want to crawl their way up his throat, sick with panic, and makes little effort to walk straight through the tremors and tilting ground.

They’re speaking to one another in Japanese, and Danny turns his head to find Steve being led three feet behind, looking green around the gills but determined, that tenacious spark in his eye that says this won’t last long. So Danny does what he does best – starts talking.

“So, not that it matters, but why the heck did you yank us from our yearly camping trip? We were bonding, having a nice moment, and I’d like to know why it went from relaxing by a fire to almost being shoved in it. If, you know, you’re inclined to share.”

Judging by the silence and shove forward he gets, they’re not inclined to share. That’s fine, he didn’t really want to know anyway. Some part of him realizes they need to know, they’re cops and they need evidence to lock these assholes up after this is over, but Danny is too far gone to see the forest for the trees, too sick with panic to think in any tense but now.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, “this kind of thing usually goes one of two ways. Either you’re looking for information, or you’re looking for hostages. Now me, I’m not ask experienced as others, but it seems like you’re not really taking advantage of the opportunity the way you should. Let me guess? Your boss sends you on this extraction, doesn’t tell you why, and you don’t have the balls to-”

One of the men holding Steve lunges for him, hand out for a backhand, and Steve makes his move. Breaking the other man’s grip, he lunches and cracks his forehead against the back of the first man’s head, then kicks out at the second, aiming to down him with a broken knee. Danny’s own technique is less refined but a bit more effective, mostly due to the fact that he has some use of his hands and he’s engaged one man and not two: he’s got the guy’s arm behind his back and a foot at the back of his knee, pushing him down into the leafy underbrush. He takes his gun from him and a sharp crack to the back of his head sends him to the ground.

Breathing heavy and adrenaline now doing its job, he looks up to assess Steve’s situation. It’s a flashbulb memory, one he won’t likely forget. It’s a second, less time than Danny has to bring up the gun he stole, but he sees one man down and the other pointing a gun at Steve’s chest. Danny knows he won’t miss and yells, tries to bring up his own gun anyway, knowing it’s a futile effort but can’t, won’t, this isn’t happening.  

The shot cuts the forest in two, and the blood drains from Steve’s face. His own, too, if the sudden rushing in his ears and loss of balance has anything to say. Danny yells Steve’s name and leaps forward to prevent another shot from going off, seeing red, hoping it was a shoulder hit,  _God it better have been a shoulder hit –_

But the man is falling forward onto Steve, and they both hit the forest floor with a thud. Steve jerks, breathing hard, and slides out from underneath him, wide-eyed and panicked but miraculously void of bullet holes. The only sound is their breathing, labored but alive, and Danny and Steve are staring at each other with wide eyes.

A sniffle to his left, and the spell is broken, Danny moving before he knows it, senses on high alert as he moves to raise the gun again. For a split second he can’t believe his eyes, this must be some sort of concussion talking, because standing a few feet away is his daughter.

Grace is holding Danny’s gun with shaking hands, staring at the man she’s shot, she’s  _killed,_ and it’s only after he says her name that she looks up at him. “Danno,” she says, a quiver in her voice, and Danny drops to his knees immediately, chin resting on her shoulder as she drops the gun and hangs onto him like a lifeline.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, it’s alright, just breathe for me, you’re fine,” he’s saying, and she’s nodding against his shoulder, little sniffles and gasps. He realizes after a moment that she’s apologizing. His heart breaks all over again, and he keeps up his murmurings but knows it’s futile.

Movement makes him jump, but it’s only Steve. Danny risks a glance to his face and he’s a statue, veins pronounced on his forehead, eyes flicking between his face and Grace’s impossibly fast. “Gracie, are you okay? Where did you get the gun? What did you-”

“Steve,” Danny says, low, and Steve stops like he’s been hit, looking at him like a deer in headlights. “It’s okay baby,” Danny says, attention back to Grace. “You did great, please don’t apologize. Uncle Steve is alive thanks to you.”

“I didn’t mean it, I was just scared, and I didn’t know what to do, but it looked like he was-”

“I know, Grace, me and Steve both do. You did so good, baby,” and his voice is breaking and damn it, he’s gonna cry too, he needs to be stronger than that, strong for her. “Gracie, think you can do one more thing for me and Steve tonight? Can you be brave one more time?” He pulls back to catch her gaze, and wants to scream from how scared she looks. But she nods, biting her lower lip, and he kisses her forehead. “That’s my girl. Think you can untie my hands?”

She hiccups and nods again. Danny holds still for her to pick at the twine, and only then does he look to Steve again, whose eyes are red-rimmed. He looks like he can’t breathe, face red and mouth slightly ajar. Danny doesn’t know what to make of it, what to say, so he talks to Grace instead. “Take your time, Monkey, there’s no hurry.”

“Your hand is hurt, Danno,” she says, so small and quiet he barely hears her.

“Can barely feel it,” he says. She picks at the ties for a while, and he feels tense and bruised all over, but all he does is spew more encouragement her way. He can’t believe this is happening, that this is happening to his  _daughter._  

His hands fall to his sides and he swallows a hiss, rolling his shoulders before rubbing his hands up and down Grace's arms. “I’ll take care of Steve, okay Grace? Just stick close, it’s okay.”

She nods, eyes brimming as she presses close to his side. Steve’s ties are the same as his own, and it takes him longer than he’d like, fingers still sore and hot from his stupid bout with the log, but he gets them untied quick enough. Steve is silent throughout, shoulders tight and hands shaking. Danny doesn’t know what to do with this information – is he mad? Scared? Just cold? He presses a hand between Steve's shoulder blades for no other reason than because he wants to, and Steve jumps like he’s been burned.

Danny leaves his hand there for another breath, finding it difficult to swallow, then moves back, down on one knee and hands back to Grace’s arms. She’s staring at the body with glassy eyes again, and he slides his hands to her armpits, picking her up and holding her like he did years ago. She immediately wraps her arms around his neck, face curled in the crook of his shoulder. Pressing her close, as if his embrace will push all the bad away, he stands up and nods to Steve, motioning for him to lead. Steve is giving him that face Danny can’t quite figure out again, so he mouths  _call Chin and Kono_ to him. Steve seems to come to his senses and pulls out his cell, murmuring their location in quiet and urgent tones, explaining that they need a clean-up and a processing kit.

Grace starts to quietly cry into his shirt. And if a few tears find his cheeks, well, he really doesn’t care.

Steve hangs up, gives him a long glance, then leads the way back to their camp.  


* * *

  
It isn’t until they get back to Steve’s place that Grace settles down enough to be reasoned with. In her distress she’s tired herself out, and it’s easy to put her to bed. He’d consoled her with a familiar bedtime story, three nightlights, and Steve’s fluffiest blanket. She’s out halfway through the story, and Danny finishes it in the dark, stays with her for a long time after.

When he eventually leaves, he knows to go to the lanai. Steps slow and uncoordinated, he feels scraped raw, muted, wants to drink himself into oblivion. Instead, he sits in his designated lawn chair, leans back, and closes his eyes.

Steve’s silent beside him for a long time, but Danny feels him fidgeting, feels him scratching at his skin, his faulting breathing, how he keeps running his hands over his thighs.

“I’m sorry,” is what he says to break the silence.

Danny gives him a moment, keeps his eyes shut. “Excuse me?”

Steve repeats himself, and Danny knows he’s running his hand over his mouth. He opens his eyes and shifts forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re sorry.”

Steve’s staring out at the ocean, looking like he’s choking on something.

“Look at me,” Danny says.

Steve obeys, and he gives a wet little breath, wide eyes brimming.

“Steve,” Danny says, and he’s amazed it took him this long to see it. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that this wasn’t your fault.”

Steve says his name, and he sounds broken.

Danny wants to grab him, shake him, and never let him go. “I know your hero complex is as big as the rock we’re living on, but I promise you, none of this is on you. On either of us. This is on whichever sonofabitch sent out hitmen for us, and I guarantee we’re gonna find him and I might just kill him.” He finds he really means it.

“But,” Steve says, and he’s fidgeting again, looking anywhere but at Danny’s face, and it’s making Danny a little bit crazy, so he grabs Steve’s arm. He jumps but regains eye contact. 

Danny waits him out, feels him shaking beneath his palm, waiting for him to break. Steve looks away, then yanks his arm away, so Danny says his name again. He doesn’t think he can take more of this, doesn’t have the energy to pull teeth right now, but this needs to happen.

Steve suddenly jumps to his feet, all tight energy and caged animal, about to vibrate out of his skin. Danny follows, hands clenched at his sides, and waits. “How-” Steve barks and then breaks off, throws his hands in the air, physically casting around for the right words. “How are you,” Steve settles on, face red and voice raised, and he motions to Danny, apparently unable to spit the rest of the words out.

“Not freaking out? Oh, I’m freaking out, McGarrett, I’m so beyond my threshold here. I know what she did, what she had to do. But I can’t be that upset. Know why?”

“No, Danny, I really don’t.” His voice cracks at the admission, eyes wide. He looks utterly lost.

And the man, bless his heart, he really doesn’t get it, Danny realizes. So he grabs him by the back of his neck and hauls him close, bringing him into a rough embrace. Steve lets out a shaking breath, hot on Danny’s ear.

“Because if she hadn’t, you’d be dead.”

The intake of air is as audible as it is physical, Steve’s body going tense all over. It’s a wet thing, and Danny marvels at the fact that this has really done a number on them both, but he never would have imagined this. Steve’s crying, he realizes.

Steve steps back, wipes a hand over his face, looking angry. “You’re not consoling me.”

“Oh?” It’s like being in a burning building; Danny has no idea what’s going on anymore, is too wrung out to even try.

“I mean – I mean you’re not allowed to. It should be,” and he huffs, wipes his face again.

“Wait – are you actually  _mad_ at yourself right now?” Danny can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “Steve, my daughter shot a man an hour and a half ago. She did that.” He has to break off, running a hand over his own face, because  _fuck_. “I would do almost anything to keep that from happening. Almost being a key word because  _again,_ you’re alive, so I can’t,” and he spreads his hands, as if to illustrate. “Do I need comforting? Probably. Could do with another one of those hugs, but that doesn’t mean you – oof,” he’s forced to stop on a breath, because Steve’s wrapped around him again, pressed impossibly tight. Danny brings his arms around and returns it, because well, he asked for it, and he wasn’t lying. “You’re allowed to lose your shit every once in a while, Steve. To be honest, I’m kind of touched that this was what did it.”

Steve snorts somewhere near his left ear and brings a hand up to the back of Danny’s skull. Danny hisses because yow, he’d forgotten he’d been hit there, and Steve adjusts his grip. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“If you apologize for anything else tonight, Steve, I might hit you.”

“Okay, Danno.”

Danny huffs and pulls back, only to move forward again, pressing his sweaty forehead to Steve’s. He inhales through his nose, feels Steve’s own twitch, and feels something in him settle.

“It’ll be okay,” Steve says, mouth an inch away from his, and it kind of sounds like he’s trying to persuade both of them.

“Yeah,” Danny says.

 

 


End file.
